


So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog of non-definitive acts

by 77Se



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Bad ways of coping with grief, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, in which case I won't stop you, it's a bit more complicated than that but I suppose it is SOME kind of love, not entirely canon compliant, there is no love here unless you wish to interpret it as such
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/77Se/pseuds/77Se
Summary: Chasing ghosts has become a pastime of theirs.
Relationships: Gammon Octo/Nemesis Sudou
Kudos: 17





	So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog of non-definitive acts

**Author's Note:**

> or, in which nyoze is always with them, even when he's _not_. 
> 
> **content warning: mentions of attempted suicide.**

Perhaps the hardest thing about losing a lover is to watch the year repeat its days.[1]

It is always on Monday mornings like these when Nemesis couldn't help but be reminded of Shakuson and the things they did together. Monday mornings like these when she is reminded of how she’d wake up in the warmth of his embrace and afterward send him off to work with a kiss or two before rendezvousing in the evening to share a meal, _and_ \--

Nemesis shakes her head and scowls. Today's no day to reminiscence: there were things to be done regarding the Dark Star Bureau and Gallerian Marlon and the Tasan Party. Things that were of far more importance than mourning the past and regretting what could have been. 

With a sigh, Nemesis sits up on the bed that has been lent to her for now. Gammon had been kind enough to offer her a place to stay while things calmed in the political front ( _after all, she was a wanted criminal now, and there was little doubt in her mind that those in Pere Noel were busy hunting her down even now_ ). It was a nice gesture, but the fact that Gammon had been so quick to place his trust in her and seemed to harbor no ill will against her continued to puzzle her. Nemesis is grateful regardless.

(It had been easy to accommodate her. After all, in this household there had always been two, even if the dust settling in the room seemed to imply otherwise.) 

They had quickly grown accustomed to each other’s presence in the household, though she had the feeling that Gammon actively avoided her at times. It wasn't something she took too personally: having never lived with anyone else ( _and especially not with a woman_ ) but his brother before, there was bound to be some feelings of awkwardness here and there for him. As such, she did her best to not disturb him much, and somehow things worked out well for them.

Breakfast was the only meal they consistently ate together, as their schedules simply didn’t line up for lunch, and Gammon’s tendency to stay at Tasan headquarters until late in order to finish up paperwork meant that he was rarely home to join Nemesis for dinner and supper. She didn't particularly mind this either: years of being alone meant she had grown used to it. It wasn't much different from when she was a child.

Still, she appreciated his conversation and company when he did happen to be there. Although he denied it, Gammon was much more similar to his brother than he thought, and hearing him speak filled her with a warm sense of familiarity and nostalgia.

/

“What if I can’t do it?” the words leave her mouth before she can do anything about it. “What if I can’t bring myself to…?”

Gammon finally looks up and stares at her blankly. “You’ve been doing this for years. Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“I… don’t know,” Nemesis lies.

“You hate him, don’t you?” She's unsure if he means for it to be a question or an affirmation-- a way for him to decide her feelings for her. “That which you feel should be enough to encourage you to go through with this. All that anger you’ve held for 19 years-- picture it as the very bullet you’ll put in his head.”

Then, very quietly, Gammon adds, “After all, you were able to go through with my brother’s assassination, even though you loved him so much--”

“Stop talking,” she hisses, kicks the wooden desk a little harder than she means to.

It’s enough to snap Gammon out of the sudden anger that had started to brew inside him, and he blinks. “... Right, yes. I did promise not to blame you for what happened. I apologize for my sudden outburst. It’s just… Nemesis, I’m sure you have your regrets over… all of that.”

“Far more than you can possibly imagine.”

Gammon gives her a tight smile and shakes his head. “No, no, I can imagine. I can imagine the amount of pain you’re in even now, I can _feel_ it, and I hate it. Because, well, it was my fault as well, wasn’t it? Although it was you who killed him, you had no choice. I, on the other hand… It was I who sent him to Rolled, planned to use you, got him involved in this whole mess… My stubbornness got him killed,” Gammon continues, and then laughs. “And, well, I can’t deal with all of that self-loathing, Nemesis. It’s already something I struggle with enough over other things. Forgive me, then… for continuing to use you even now, as a scapegoat for my own guilt this time. My selfishness truly knows no bounds.”

“... And yet you haven’t given up,” Nemesis says, and the sound of her voice makes both of them jump. “I tried to kill myself after that happened, you know, but I couldn’t die. I thought of it as a cruel punishment from the gods, but there were… _other reasons_ as to why I survived. I could’ve tried again if I had wanted to, but… Shakuson gave his life for mine. It’s not what he would have wanted, and so I keep going despite everything. 

“You feel the same way, don’t you? You continue doing what you do, for him. You could have… given up after his death out of grief, brought your movement in Elphegort and Levianta to a halt, but you didn’t. You still seek justice for other people. We can understand each other.” 

Nemesis clears her throat. “And, if it helps matters at all, I… forgive you for everything.”

“... Thank you. As do I, although there is not much for me to forgive,” Gammon finally says, and while she disagrees, she makes no attempt to correct him. “Nemesis-- let us not desert one another; we are an injured body.[2] We are one and the same.”

“I suppose so,” Nemesis’ hand rests on top of her holster. “I suppose so.”

/

She visits the ashes of Gallerian’s former home the following day and enjoys watching the way her father’s home slowly crumbles: it fills her with an odd sense of pride and makes her almost wish she could burn down _every single building surrounding it_ \--

“What do you plan to do now?” 

Nemesis stirs, but does not turn to face Gammon. Instead, she ducks her head lower, tries to make herself as small as possible. The answer _should be_ easy on her tongue. 

“I don’t know,” she admits, and even after having thought it over for more than a few minutes, she struggles to find the words to answer him. “I’ve always had to follow orders given to me by someone else… I don’t know what it’s like to make my own decisions. It feels like I’ve fulfilled my purpose.”

 _Have not_ , Ziz-san reminds her somewhere in the back of her mind. _What of every evil soul who has not yet received due punishment?_

Gammon hums and pretends to understand. _There’s that troubled look of his._ It always reminded her of--

“And you?” Nemesis asks, in an attempt to divert his attention away from her. “What will you do now?”

“I suppose I will continue to work under Tasan and help as many others as I can,” he answers with practiced ease. “Not much else for me to do. I, ah, never received a formal education, so that does limit my options, and I would rather not go back to the military…”

“What would you do-- What would you do if your circumstances weren’t such?” Nemesis hesitates, but continues anyway. “If… you could start over, I mean.”

“It’s not something I’ve ever considered,” Gammon replies. “I try not to dwell on impossibilities. What would _you_ do?” 

Nemesis knows this to be a lie: Gammon is obsessed with the impossible, with _what if's_ and _maybe’s. You think too much,_ she’s found herself telling him before, as though she’s not the same way herself.

Nemesis shakes her head. “I don’t know,” _But you do._ “I’d have to be born into a completely different family for the circumstances of my life to change.”

Gammon agrees, mutters something regarding bloodlines under his breath, and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. It’s the first time he’s touched her without dropping her like a hot coal, and Nemesis has to wonder what has changed from when they first met eight months ago.

It’s an odd thing to think about, how it’s been eight short months since those eight long months she spent with Shakuson and yet her grief has not diminished at all. Nemesis wonders if it ever will. 

/

The restaurant they’ve claimed for lunch is a small one, sitting at the junction of Aceid’s busiest streets and far too close to the Millenium Tree Forest for Nemesis’ comfort. Despite its unattractive appearance, the place is bustling with activity from traveling traders and natives alike, and their voices mingle together in awe at the latest gossip. Nemesis does little to try and eavesdrop.

 _In celebration of your 21st birthday_ , Gammon had said, willingly ignorant of the fact that it had been a few months since then. Nemesis doesn't mind playing along: both her 20th and 21st birthdays had been spent in prison, and though she has never been one to celebrate anyway, Gammon had insisted. Nemesis takes a moment to roll her eyes.

“I just thought you’d appreciate some company,” Gammon ducks behind the menu. “You know, since it’s been two years and all. I can’t imagine being confined to a cell does much for your social well-being.”

Nemesis makes a non-committal noise. It certainly doesn’t, but she doesn’t intend to open up to him about all of that. Seeing as Gammon seemed to know nearly everything about her and her life already, keeping her feelings to herself seemed to be the last form of privacy she could afford. 

Gammon can do enough talking for both of them anyway, and Nemesis finds that making him talk has become one of her favorite things to do lately, for reasons she’d never admit even to herself. Gammon speaks of politics most of the time, and sometimes, very rarely, makes Nemesis privy to stories of times gone by, about himself or his brother or even their ancestors. 

She likes the ones about Shakuson best. _Tell me something I never knew about him_ , Nemesis says, and Gammon always manages to surprise her. Of course he does; there are so many things she doesn’t know about him. They never had the time to cover it all. It makes her feel almost envious over how she never knew the _real_ him, the _Nyoze_ of which Gammon speaks so fondly.

Memory is no friend. It can only tell you what you no longer have.[3]

When Nemesis finally tires of hearing him, she kisses him to quiet him down. It’s not as difficult to do as it seems, even if it’s always she who initiates and even if he continues to hesitate before reciprocating (Nemesis knows that when you live, it shows. Gammon looks hungry for love, always starving himself by choice[4]). None of that matters in the grand scheme of things, as it’s hardly meant to be a romantic gesture.

Kissing him is something she has come to enjoy for all the wrong reasons. Nemesis is aware of the fact that he lies to her often: a charismatic speaker makes for a skilled liar, and Gammon has a knack for aggrandizement and choosing his words with care in order to omit that which does not benefit him, but he can’t lie to her here. Rather, in this wordless exchange of theirs, Gammon can not hide how selfish and unkind he really is for once. 

/

She’s fond of tracing those scars carved over nearly every inch of his body when they’re together like this. It’s something Nemesis knows not to ask about, but the care and control with which the patterns were made never fail to pique her interest. 

_“_ Let me see your face,” she always insists on pinning his hair back when they do this, and he complies. It’s easy enough to do when he’s on his back, anyway. This is how she invokes the ghosts of dead men.

“Where we’re from, tradition states that we are not to cut our hair,” Gammon begins providing an answer to that which Nemesis hadn’t asked. She glances down and tilts her hips up and Gammon nearly entirely forgets what he’d been meaning to say. “We-- were identical growing up. I had to set myself apart from him _somehow_ , lest our resemblance became troublesome for those around us.”

The irony in his statement does not fail to escape her. Nemesis chuckles humorlessly.

**Author's Note:**

> 1Anne Carson, _Glass, Irony and God._ [return to text]  
> 2Jane Austen, _Northanger Abby._ [return to text]  
> 3Margaret Atwood, _A Visit._ [return to text]  
> 4Judith Ortiz Cofer, _Nada._ [return to text]  
>   
> Thank you for reading! The footnotes are (almost) direct quotations from some of my favorite pieces of literature; I encourage everyone to check them out. The title is also from a Richard Siken poem. 
> 
> I feel the need to explain this a bit more: I think these two are very interesting. This is very much me playing 'fill in the gaps' in regards to what I imagine their relationship to be, because we know almost nothing about what they were like during that period of time in which they knew each other, and as such, this is pretty headcanon-heavy and not entirely canon-compliant at all, so I apologize.
> 
> I also apologize for the present tense LMAO I tried to use past for this but it just didn't vibe y'know?


End file.
